The tea was warm as you brought the porcelain cup to your lips. It trickled down your throat and enveloped the inside of your body with a perfectly temperatured chamomile and lavender. A dash of honey was noticeable as well.

You always did love honey. Aeolus knew that. He also knew that the island you occupied was cold during the day and even colder at night, hence the many evenings spent together with a nice cup of hot tea.

“So,” Aeolus smiled, sitting criss cross on a fluffy cloud he brought over when you first arrived to his floating island. “I gave a mortal the bag of wind I was telling you about.”

When you didn’t give an immediate answer—because let’s be honest, who knows what mortal it was Aeolus had spoken to—the god merely continued. “I told him not to open it, not to let his crew open it—and then guess what he went and did?”

You blinked; Aeolus stared at you, then threw one hand in the air and said, “He let the crew open the bag!” Despite knowing that response had been coming, his flare of the answer made you laugh in a way only he could make you laugh.

Aeolus felt a pang in his chest, like an arrow that lodged itself in his heart. He absolutely loved to hear your laugh, to see the way your eyes sparkled in delight. It made his lips curl upwards into a smile, all the while a realization dawned on him: he was absolutely smitten with you.